


Ultimo Tango a Sofia

by sentenza



Category: Gomorra - La Serie | Gomorrah (TV)
Genre: AKA, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bestiality, Butt Chugging, Choking, Come Eating, D/s, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Derogatory Language, Face-Fucking, Forced Feminization, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Forced Prostitution, Glory Hole, I'm Sorry, Knotting, LOL I forgot the anal, M/M, Mentioned: - Freeform, Object Insertion, Physical Abuse, Public Humiliation, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Harassment, Slash, Substance Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Voyeurism, alcohol enema, featured:, here goes nothing, how quaint, revenge porn threat, unrequited feelings, unsafe unsane and unconsensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentenza/pseuds/sentenza
Summary: After the death of his beloved daughter, Ciro is convinced he has to pay for what he has done. Luckily for him, he and his new Bulgarian boss' son, are on the same page exactly.Porn. Just nasty, nasty porn.No, I'm serious, guys. Just read the tags.





	Ultimo Tango a Sofia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FakeCirilla9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakeCirilla9/gifts).



> A condensed snippet from a fic I'll nerver write. About the title, it's a ref to "Ultimo Tango a Parigi" ("Last Tango in Paris") a Bernardo Bertolucci's film.

Ciro knew exactly how it all had began and this is not something that can be said for a lot of things in life.

“Want to take her place?”

To be fair he had never consented, not with words, at least, but something must have convinced Mladen that he was going to go along with this whole crazy thing without him having to verbalize anything. With one carelessly violent shove he had thrown the Albanian girl, Elvana, to the unforgiving floor and barked at her to get her hot pink-lace covered ass out of the room. He did not had to tell her twice. Ciro would have liked to say that the gratitude-filled gaze she had thrown at him, before covering her naked breasts the best she could and hurrying to recover the slip of pink chiffon she had been wearing, had been enough to make what had happened just minutes later worth it. But, honestly? He was not that selfless. Never was.

“Get naked” Mladen had told him, voice dead serious and eyes as cold as the winter of that god forsaken land. Ciro had been comprehensively reluctant to do as Mladen was saying, but decided to comply after he changed his instructions to “get fucking naked, you worthless piece of trash” aided by the visual support of his flashy golden 45 caliber. Call him naïve, but he had done what the Bulgarian mob boss was asking and disrobed, convinced that this was all a bluff, nothing but yet another one of Mladen's little humiliations at his expenses.

The other man had smirked, touched and asked his what he could do, because he better satisfy him, after all, and Ciro had done nothing, keeping still and letting the other man's taunts wash over him, eyes studiously averted to the side as he always did when dealing with the fucking rabid dog that Mladen was. It didn't really dawn on him that he was serious until the other man left his side to retrieve from the raised, circular bed dominating the room, what could only be called a dildo. A very realistic, very large dildo.

That's how it all had begun. With him on the floor, because apparently he wasn't “good enough for a bed”, fucking himself with a rubber cock while Mladen stood over him, providing a lewd commentary and jerking himself off with a shit-eating grin. It would have not been an exaggeration to say that his vocabulary on sex related terms in Bulgarian had doubled that night.

 

It had been almost a year since their “game sessions” had begun and Ciro still had to learn not to test Mladen in front of his men. It wasn't his fault, really, despite what Mladen told him every time, while giving him his belt or making him lick his semen from the floor, that it _was_ all his fault and he knew that he fucking deserved everything that was coming to him.

And, to be fair, the other man wasn't wrong, in his heart of heart Ciro knew it. If killing one's whole family wasn't something that mandated the worst punishment imaginable he didn't know what would, really! And yet, still there was this stubborn part of him - the same part that defied the Savastanos and slit Conte's throat - that just would not die, in spite of his and Mladen's collective efforts to literally strangle it out of him.

Mladen knew that if their games had been made public both their lives would have ended in a blood bath, but there was something in the young boss that made it impossible for him to resist flaunting Ciro in front of his gang of thugs, showing off his downcast eyes and hands gathered in his lap, his “slutty schoolgirl act”, as he liked to call it. He liked to display his submission, being forbidden from showing off everything else, an everything that Ciro was very careful to hide behind heavy wool and lambskin jackets, going to the extent of claiming to be cold in rooms where men and women alike pranced around almost in their birthday's suites.

“See?” asked Mladen with a complacent smirk at the man sat beside him on the huge leather couch, “I trained this Italian dog good.”

Hysterical and suggestive, judging by the jeers and leers Ciro was receiving. Mladen was in a great mood, tonight. He hated having to report to him in front of his men, especially when thy were on their marry way to get fucking wasted on E and vodka.

“Pretty ugly dog you got yourself, boss!”

Well, joke's on them. Little did they know that it was him sucking their cocks clean almost every Friday night behind the glory hole in the bathroom of one of Valentin's seediest clubs in town. Mladen had been furious with him when, the first time he had Ciro suck him off, had resulted in him throwing up all over his shoes. He had been pretty adamant that he learned the hard and fast way. And nothing was hardest and fastest than having your face smushed in place against cheap plywood while some faceless roughneck is fucking your throat with abandon.

He did not know how many men he had serviced that first night, too preoccupied with keeping the content of his stomach to himself and minding his teeth, terrified at the prospect that Mladen would actually make good of his promise and upload his night's endeavors somewhere on the internet for the world to see. He wasn't a novice in swallowing disgusting stuff - both metaphorically and literally - but that had really tested his limits, he had reasoned while trying to keep everything down even once in the privacy of his little shithole of an apartment. Not that he had wanted to comply with Mladen's sick wishes when out from his sight as well, he just didn't want all that disgusting slime passing through his mouth and on his tongue again, he told himself tiredly wiping away the pink lipstick he had been force to put on just before beginning and had been forced to reapply every five men or so.

“He does everything, _everything_ , he is told to do” went blathering on Mladen, leaning forward from the couch backrest to pour two glasses of chilly Beluga, then sticking index and middle finger in each one and getting up to stroll listlessly past the glass coffee table between them. “No wonder my father likes him so much. I bet old man Valentin wished I was more like him but” and he stopped righ in front of Ciro, a mean-ass smirk on his sharp face and one of the vodka shots proffered in his direction, “I'm a man, I don't like taking things lying down.”

More laughter.

Was the shit-eating grin Mladen had sported, up to three seconds ago, going off like a burned light enough consolation for what Ciro had earned for himself with his barely-there shake of the head in answer to the offered drink? Probably not, he surmised, feeling the sting in his legs tendons left by yesterday's evening spreader bar suddenly decuple. How he hated the thing. He hated _all_ things.

Why did he had to be this way? Why couldn't he just... be good for once? Why couldn't he simply give up and stop fighting the inevitable?

“I told you, friends” said Mladen, his cheer apparently back, dawning in one go the content of one glass immediatelt followed by the other, “He is strange... he does not drink, he does not like to have fun. Don't know what my father sees in him. What _anyone_ would see in him, really!” Oh, but the leer he threw at Ciro before turning to let glass drop on glass, made it clear that they were going to have a _whooole_ lot of fun as soon the gaggle of goons had vacated the premises.

It did not take long for them to be left alone in the middle of the privè, but Mladen took is sweet time – pouring himself a drink, snorting a line, checking his phone – before turning to face Ciro, still waiting patiently and submissively in the middle of the room. He could have almost spotted some satisfaction lurking under the scalding ice of his eyes had he been permitted to lift his gaze from the floor in front of his feet.

“Strip” ordered the other man, not even looking at him while he plopped down on the sofa in a bored slump, drink in the hand that wasn't unfastening his belt, completely confident that his orders were going to be followed.

And there Ciro stood, butt naked like the day he was born, his layers upon layers of clothes pooled at his feet, while the only son of his new boss gazed on at him, taking out his limp cock and fondling his balls.

A lazy wave directed at his crotch area and Ciro stepped toward the other man, completely unashamed in his state of undress. After a year there was nothing, literally nothing, Mladen had not yet seen. Inside and out. To be completely fair, his body was hardly his own anymore, he had no say on anything, not even on how to groom himself or on how often to take a shower. He had to be completely smooth and completely clean, empty. Ready.

Always.

Incredible to say but it had cost him more to shave off his beard – no one likes itchy blowjobs, Mladen had told him – than his pubic hair.

He did not hesitate to drop on the fuzzy white carpet at Mladen's feet and give the slit a kiss, something the other had trained him to do to every dick before putting it in his mouth, a little “thank you kiss” to let them know how much he appreciated the opportunity to have a real man cock in his whore mouth.

He must not have been Mladen's first fuck of the day, Ciro thought with a sting of revulsion, smelling strawberry lube in the springy curls where his nose was being ground.

He fucking hated this, having to play cum dumpster on Friday was almost better. At least, when he was forced to whore out his mouth at the club, the other men could not grab his head from the other side of the rickety bathroom stall. The feeling of being suffocated, of having something forced past his throat, was just something he could not get used to, and even after all this time, thirty embarrassing seconds was all he was able to last, before his survival instinct kicked in, making him struggle and cough.

He would have spared himself a load of lashes had he not been so stupidly weak and learned to bear it in silence. “Stupid, useless slut!” roared Mladen pushing him away so forcefully to almost send him banging his head against the sharp edge of the wide, modern coffee table encompassed by the large L-shaped couch, “Can't even suck cock proper!”

“'M sorry” rasped Ciro, trying not to cough spit and a lung on the nice carpet. He tried to talk as little as possible, he knew Mladen hated his stupid accent, he had told him so several times, mocking him every chance he got for his poor pronunciation and stinted grammar. “Worse than those dumb Albanian whores” he liked to tell him.

“Sorry, hu?” the other man barked, getting up from the couch and letting his belt slip free from the pants loops, “I'll teach you to be sorry!”

In one smooth, violent move Mladen slipped the luxurious band of leather around Ciro's still convulsing throat in an ever-thightening noose. “You fucking ungrateful bitch!” he hissed, pulling him backward like a dog on a leash toward the low piece of furniture still covered in empty glasses. Ciro tried to assist the dragging the best he could, with his hands busy preventing the brass buckle from crushing his windpipe, a litany of strangled _I'm sorry_ getting more and more desperate just to stop all of a sudden when Mladen added: “Should probably let Vasil and Hristo have a go at your ass again, what do you say, bitch, mh? This would probably teach you to appreciate man meat instead of spitting it out like the thankless whore you are.”

He barely stopped himself from begging “no, please”, knowing by now that it would have served just the opposite purpose, when he had heard the other man mention his two dogs. Mladen's two rottweilers, Vasil and Hristo, were a couple of mean motherfuckers, Ciro had had the displeasure of meeting them only once since this thing with Mladen had begun, but that had been more than enough for him. He had never been more humiliated, not to mention terrified, in his entire life, naked under a 60 kg slobbering beast, with a head bigger and toothier than his own, pounding away at his ass.

And even if, all in all, the whole thing had not been _that_ terrible - “You took that knot like a real natural” had told him Mladen in a husky voice, “Like a real bitch.” - resulting in some bad but manageable scratches and Mladen sending him away early because he wanted “no dog's sloppy seconds”, he wasn't keen on repeating that experience. Whatever mutilated and festering semblance of pride he had left would not let him, because that night he had slept the best he had ever slept since strangling his wife, like the dead. With the absolute and comforting certainty that he had truly touched rock bottom and had nowhere else to fall from there.

“C'mon!” growled Mladen, his teeth clenched in anger and excitement, “C'mon, get up here, you stupid animal!” Gingerly and hoping that the thing could sustain his weigh without shattering and making him land in a heap of broken glass, Ciro crawled on all fours on top of the coffee table, the smooth surface made slippery by spilled alcohol and the pre that was shamefully dripping from his cock like from a leaky faucet. “Now you stay here and behave, pet” told him the other man, bending and dragging his head low to tie one end of the belt biting his neck, to the fine lattice work bordering the edges of the low table, “Master is going to make you have fun, whether you like it or not.” Ciro felt and heard Mladen say, chapped lips brushing against his reddened ear.

Mladen got up and, with a harsh slap to his rear, left him and went toward the chromed ice bucket stand. Ciro from his rear-up-head-down position couldn't really see what the other man was doing, anxiety and blood making his ears ring and eyes mist, but he could make him out sticking one hand inside the stainless steel bucket and the other one grabbing the neck of a sweating black bottle of Belvedere.

“You should have just accepted that drink, instead of trying to act smart in front of my men, yes?” Mladen asked him in a disinterested tone, while playing with the handful of ice cubes he had just got and strolling calmly back, just to stop right behind him where he could not see anything. Yeah, maybe he should have, thought Ciro, starting to feel light-headed with all the blood rushing to his lowered head, while wriggling stintedly on the glass table to try and relieve some of the pressure on his throat and cheekbone, smashed against the unforgiving tempered glass.

The scalding chill of an ice cube sliding from his tailbone, around his hole and further down to his balls, was somewhat expected and even when that same piece of ice was dragged back up and pushed smoothly inside of him the only reaction Ciro allowed himself was a hiss and some screwed-shut eyes. Mladen loved to stick things inside him, plugs, fake cocks, real cocks, gun barrels, a marble paperweight shaped like a goose egg... Anything that would fit. More or less.

Number two, three and four went in with no panoramic tour, making hole in one, and by ice cube number six and seven Ciro could no longer contain his pitiful groans, his insides cramping violently because of the intense cold.

“Starting to feel it, yet, slut?” laughed Mladen, taking a swing from the frosted bottle he was holding and sticking his wet middle finger inside Ciro's contracted ass with a pleasd hum, “'S all nice and cold in here. Only a fucking animal would put ice in nice vodka, but you can't serve it in a glass that's not been chilled proper now, can you?”

Mladen took another deep drag from the half-empty bottle, blocked the opening with his thumb and turned the thing upside-down. Ciro's ass was so anesthetized by the cold that he didn't feel the switch from the other man's finger to the bottle neck, the shock of good part of the vodka soaking his strained thighs in a frosty sting that made his toes curl and his voice brake from his constrained windpipe, the only thing letting him know what was going on there in the back. “Yeah,” groaned Mladen moving the bottle in and out in slow purposeful strokes, “Lap it up, baby.”

“Is it good?” Ciro distantly heard him ask him over the sound of being fucked with a bottle, “It's the best, nothing but the best for my bitch.” His head was already feeling funny with the lack of air and abundance of blood, he knew the situation was going to worsen rapidly with the alcohol filling his rectum and seeping in his bowels. It was unbelievable how faster alcohol got to your head when taken rectally. It was also unbelievable how dangerous it was, being impossibilitated from just throwing it up if you got too much.

He was already starting to feel the effect when Mladen got the now empty bottle out of him and plugged his leaking ass up with his shockingly hot cock in a solid push, making Ciro waver precariously on his knees, slipping on the soaked slippery surface he had to balance on and sending several of the glasses still lining the table rolling to the floor.

“Motherfucker!” Mladen imprecated with a hiss, letting his dick sink in the icy dept of his unresisting asshole, his wet, cold hands coming up to steady himself against Ciro's hips. The bastard must have been more coked up than he had believed him to be, if he could maintain his hard-on while sticking his dick in ice, Ciro mused in a haze, almost feeling the vodka seeping into his bloodstream without making a stop at his liver first.

Mladen was fast to recuperate, gaining speed quickly, almost like he was trying to warm himself up with the friction, every time he pulled out alcohol mixed with water from the melted ice would squirt out to soak the carpet under them. He wans't completely sure because, as is usual when pure ethanol enters your system, time was starting to stretch and contract in weird patterns, but Ciro had the distinct impression that Mladen was lasting more than usual and by his grunts and groans, sounded like he was getting pretty winded up.

“You bitch!” he panted, delivering Ciro's ass a painful slap that made him jolt awake from his alcoholic stupor and the hypnotic rattling of the glassware that had yet to make it off the table, “Tighten up this slack asspussy a bit, I can't feel nothing!” Despite wanting to tell him that he had to thank being out of his mind on blow if he still had an erection, Ciro did his best, the harsh pounding he was getting working back some feeling in his muscles, tingling to the point of unfeelingness with cold and hard liquor. But he must have done something good if the gravelly “Hng, yesss!” he heard coming from behind him was anything to go by. After that it didn't take Mladen long to add his baby batter to the runny mix filling his bowels.

There was something to be said, about the nirvana of being just a hole to be filled, to be fucked, reasoned Ciro, feeling his mind slip further and further down to that warm and pulsing place he had discovered under all his worries and desperation. The little retreat that made his head empty and flesh slack where it needed to be slack and hard where it needed to be hard in an annihilating perfection. After all, a hole was nothing, an absence, something that does not exist, and something that does not exist can't feel pain, right?

Ciro's eyes sprang open when he suddenly felt Mladen sink his fingernails in the meat of his flanks and lean against him, flagging dick still in his ass, like he was trying to get some balance after a sudden moment of _défaillance_ , pushing down on him and grinding his cheekbone painfully on the sweat-slippery table top his face was resting on. The new angle his spine and neck had to bend to made his breathing almost impossible, when coupled with the belt still keeping him leashed to the furniture edge.

It was a relief when, finally, Mladen seemed to regain some balance and slipped out from his abused asshole, so much so that that Ciro relaxed too much and a gush of mixed lukewarm fluids flowed out of him. “What did I tell you about being an ungrateful whore?” slurred Mladen, with no real bite behind his words, mellowed by endorphins and alcohol, but still coordinated enough to deliver a mean slap to his ass, “Tighten up. Don't be wasteful.”

Ciro did his best to do as he was told but the thermic and mechanic shock his hole had just went through must have been too much because, when Mladen took a knee behind him, his tongue slipped inside the reddened ring of muscles like a hot knife through butter.

It seemed like Mladen was being serious about the wastefulness thing, seeing how it felt like he was trying to suck back out everything he gave him, thought Ciro before melting in a deep moan when he felt the other man slip a hand between his wet thighs and start to pull his congested cock in downward strokes, causing him to cum in a puddle on the stained glass surface. He didn't even try to resist, he knew Mladen was adamant that he came, every single time and as many times as he deemed necessary to show how much Ciro enjoyed their little sessions.

He doubted his nerves would ever forget the first time he had came dry after being impaled for almost an hour on one of Mladen's little toys.

With a pleased hum Mladen gave one last suck and stopped frenching his ass, got up and, with a vice-like grip on his shoulder, turned him on his back, slamming him against the glass surface. Ciro's head was reeling bad and he opposed no resistance when he felt Mladen's iron grip seize his face, digging in his jaw and forcing his mouth open wide, the thought of resisting never crossing his mind even when he saw the other man bend over him, face red and pupils huge, to let the mix of semen, saliva and vodka drip from his mouth to his own. Ciro swallowed everything without having to be told, the only obstacle the one still wrapped around his trachea, the ones in his head buried away in some corner of his brain after his first month under Mladen's tender cares.

The sting of sick pride he felt watching Mladen's eyes, already heavy with intoxication, turn heavier with arousal made him feel more nauseous and the third of a bottle of sauce he had been forced to consume in the most unorthodox way imaginable.

Ciro hated looking Mladen in the eyes, he avoided it as much as possible and the other man seem more than satisfied with this open act of submission, so subtle and fulfilling, but in the rare moments when their eyes met – usually after suffering a mind-blowing orgasm – he felt a frisson of something. A wave of thick, oily sludge cover all the noise, guilt and pain keeping him awake night after night and make peace in his head. A high so potent he didn't even question the torrid kiss Mladen gave him, his tongue slipping inside his unresisting mouth, slick and filthy, to twine with Ciro's own.

With a whisper of leather and one last wet click of their mouths, Ciro felt the belt slip from around his throat, his breaths coming in smooth and deep now, the feeling of Mladen's hand sliding possessive from his neck, down his sternum and on the soft patch of skin between his navel and crotch sending goosebumps all over his spent body.

Keeping his eyes open was getting increasingly difficult now, the vodka saturating his blood and turning everything foggy and jilted, making everything appear dreamlike and hallucinated. Just like the kiss he thought he felt being pressed against the raw skin of his neck, where the leather had rubbed away for the whole duration of his ordeal. Like that time, when Mladen had made him take those pills, threatening to put a needle in his arm if he did not take “those fucking things” and stopped being “such a whiny sissy”. Of all the things he had done up to that point that had freaked him the fuck out the most, the whole thing haunting him for days, seeing how he didn't remember anything and he had woken up the next day in Mladen's bed, something he had never been permitted.The few times he had fallen  asleep – or more like passed out – resulting in the other man waking him with kicks and fists.

To that day he still was not sure of what he had been given and what had happened to him that night, absurd flashes of Mladen sucking on his toes, looping his bound hands around his neck, taking him face to face – something he never did, claiming he hated looking at his stupid face and that an animal like him was only fit to be mounted on hands and knees – coming back to him in the following days.

Hallucinations were never a good sign but discovering he had no visible mark or bruise anywhere had been even more disturbing.

The shadow over him lifted and from the corner of his eyes Ciro watched Mladen stagger on his feet and tuck himself beck in his pants. Time to up and leave, then.

It took him all of his strength and coordination just to turn and land with a soft thud on the fluffy white carpet covering the floor. His head felt like it was just one more nervous impulse from exploding but he knew what was going to happen if he gave up now.

With a trembling hand Ciro reached for his clothes, still strewn on the cold floor where he had left them, but all he obtained was a fresh wave of nausea that made his eyes hurt and the hand he was not using to prop himself up, going to his clammy face.

He was never going to make it.

It had not escaped him the stoic figure looking at him dragging himself on the floor. He tried not to flinch too much when a strong hand landed on his naked shoulder, pushing him down to the carpet and, surprisingly, retreating immediately after. Suspicious and still not in his right mind Ciro lifted a pair of unfocused eyes to take a look at the other man, searching for any trace of a bluff or sign that he was yet again being baited in some new and cruel punishment. But he was so tired, so drunk, that when Mladen told him a simple and almost gentle – and how completely wasted had he to be to believe that - “stay” Ciro did as he was told, letting the warm hand push him down to rest his reeling head on the ground. Naked, filthy but not as cold as he would have been in his drafty hovel of an apartment.

After all, if Mladen had wanted an excuse to have a go at him again he would have found one in any case. It was better to sleep when he had the chance decided Ciro, letting his muscles relax as much as he could lulled by the heavy, cardiopathic beat coming from the club downstairs.

He never saw Mladen pick up his stuff, wear his coat and look at him long enough to see his breathing pattern smooth out, becoming deep and regular. He never heard him coming back to him.

He never felt him kiss the back of his hand goodnight.

Goodbye.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah, basically this was going to be a story set in Bulgaria, where Ciro (traumatized and convinced he has to pay for the death of his daughter) accidentally starts a very bordeline D/s relationship with Mladen, who has a score of psycological problmes himself. Their arrangement prevents Ciro from shooting Mladen in the face and going back, prompting a desperate Genny to find someone else to help him fight against his father-in-law and ending up allying with Enzo and his crew. He follows them to Sofia and destiny wants that he witnesses one of Ciro and Mladen's playdates. Truckloads of drama follow. Mladen lets Ciro go because he knew he was toxic for him and Genny/Ciro is endgame.
> 
> Not so sure about that, right now. Bad boy M and Ci' are so hot together.
> 
> IMPORTANT EDIT:  
> Okay guys, which tag is it? Because I'm sure as hell you are not here for the fandom. ...Please, tell me it's not "knotting".  
> Please, tell me it's not "butt chugging". 
> 
> Please tell me it's "I'm sorry". Oh God...


End file.
